Water Under the Bridge
by Paint Me a Symphony
Summary: Things left unsaid and crimes of passion build up like water under a bridge. Eventually, the water level has to get too high. Bitter House/Cameron.


**Water Under the Bridge**

**Current Title:** Water Under the Bridge

**Fandom:** _House M.D_

**Story Summary:** Things left unsaid and crimes of passion build up like water under a bridge. Eventually, the water level has to get too high. Bitter House/Cameron. Small spoiler for S5, but you'd have to have seen the spoiler before to pick it out.

**Genre:** Angst/General

**Rating:** T/PG-13

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**Author's Starting Notes:** Early last month, I was writing down metaphors and thought about how a bad relationship is like a bridge. You hold onto it and hope to God that it will keep you up. Eventually, you either leave the bridge, or drown in the water below. This was what came of it. This is a bitter House/Cameron oneshot that happens after the season four finale. Don't ask me exactly when a relationship started, because I don't actually know. All I know is that my PMs are down and that PMs looks remarkably like PMS which everyone around me seems to be suffering from these days. Gosh, high school. This is also written in second person. You have been forewarned. It was my first trial at it so it may not be the best. So, read and review.

**Time Stamp:** Posted September 27th, 2008

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**1:**

And as those words finally register in your mind, you can practically hear your heart breaking in two. A plane could have crashed into you and you wouldn't notice. Come to think of it, you're almost sure one has. Surely all this pain can't be _just_ emotional, can it?

Eyes screwed tight, you breathe deeply trying to calm yourself only to hear his voice again.

"It's for the best…. I'm not sorry," he says.

A shocked laugh escapes you.

"You wouldn't be. Why would you, anyway? We've only been together for half a year. What would you have to feel sorry for?" you ask. Your voice is strong, but pain leaks through anyway.

"I don't think this is a good idea anymore," he says lamely

"Oh, come on, let's be honest with each other. You never thought this was a good idea. You never wanted it, or me," you expose almost spitefully. As much as it seems the feeling is targeted at him, you know it's targeted more at yourself. How could you have been so foolish?

"That's not true," he insists, "I wanted you,"

"No, you didn't. You wanted the essence. I was something you hadn't had before. Someone different from Stacy, and way off from Cuddy. You may have wanted my body, maybe even a drop of my mind, but you never wanted _me_,"

He is silent then. As ridiculous as that sentence may have sounded, you both know that it's true.

You continue, "I loved you. You told me you loved me. I cannot believe I was stupid enough to believe you. Now, it's come back to bite me in one hell of a way,"

"Alison, it's not that I don't want to. There's just too much water under the bridge. Too much has happened - or hasn't happened if you want to see it that way - for anything to be normal," he tries to say. You resist the urge to roll your eyes because you know the fact that he's even doing this in person means he has matured somewhat. If this had been five months prior, he would have just shrugged you off and acted as if you were nothing but any other Emergency Room Senior Attending. Somehow, that option sounds much better than this break up conversation you're having. You tune yourself back into his little speech just in time to hear something that sets you over the edge.

"I'm not some cuddly bear you can snuggle up to," he repents heading the same direction he always does when things go sour. This time, you choose to make a detour down the path you'd like.

"I know that, believe I do. I learned that the first day I met you. And pulled through it the first night we were together. Do you know what it was like arriving at my building at three in the morning looking like road kill, smelling like _your condo_, and having to pretend that nothing was going on to the person at the front? They knew, House. They knew that I had been used in a horrible way. Hell, I knew too. You needed someone, and I was there. You took advantage of the fact that I still cared for you, and I let you, continuously, for _six damn months_! And now, now of all times, you turn around and tell me that there's nothing you can do, or say, to try and make this work. There's a lot you could do. You just don't want to,"

"Alison, I-"

"_Don't!_ Do _not_ call me that. It's Doctor Cameron to you now,"

"Yeah, that's mature. You can't be serious,"

"Why not? I was serious when I told you that Wilson was resigning. I was serious when I told you I really didn't like Mexican food. I was deathly serious when I told you I was leaving Robert. Why the hell can't I be serious about this?"

"Because it's not you, Cameron,"

"You wouldn't know me if you read a full autobiography on my life, House. I'm standing right in front of you, as I have been nearly every day for the past four and a half years, and I bet you can't even tell me what color my eyes are. Or what my middle name is,"

"I know your middle name," he sputters as if the notion that he doesn't is the most preposterous thing you've ever said. You look at him expectantly, but know not to get your hopes up.

"Then, what is it?" you ask impatiently to his thoughtful expression

"It's…. It's…. Come on, it's… Erin," he answers after much delay. You can't help but laugh at that one.

"That's Lisa's middle name," you tell him. He sighs after that for he knows the hole he's been digging is a bit too deep to climb out of with his gimp leg.

_Funny_, you think, _She chops out a giant chunk of thigh muscle and he still remembers more about her than he does me_. You consider mentioning this to him before a better thought comes to you.

"Gosh, what did I see in you? No, really, what did I see? You're disgusting. You sincerely disgust me. You're _just like him_," you say knowing he'll understand who 'he' is and probably hate you for it at the same time. Then again, that's what you want, isn't it? Because the opposite of love isn't hate; it's indifference. And, you've give anything for him to care again.

"I'm not like him," Greg says defiantly

"You're not? So, you didn't find a woman completely in love with you and use her to your advantage? You didn't treat the woman like a prize for a while only to turn around and act like she didn't exist a little bit later? You didn't run around like you were superior and then shrivel up to some _pathetic_ piece of _shit_ the second you were behind closed doors? As far as I'm concerned, you _are_ your father, Greg."

You're almost certain that you would have smirked if you weren't so emotionally drained right now. Instead, you just watch as nostrils flare dangerously in rage. He's obviously unhappy with you pointing out similarities. Silently, you wonder how much angrier he'd be if you mentioned the one other thing he had done that was so like his father. For a moment at least before his restrained angry growl hits your attentive ears.

"You have no idea what I grew up with," he hisses lowly

"You have no idea about _anything_! You don't know where I grew up, what I went through, and what I had to do just to get along! My own mother hated me. She wanted to kick me out, but my dad wouldn't let her. Not because he wanted to raise me right, or because he was some sick pedophilic child rapist - sorry to disappoint another one of your tale as old as time theories. But because he needed a babysitter for my little brother. While you bitch and moan about the pain you're in from your leg, think about the pain other people are in. I'm not talking about myself, because I'm almost over Daniel's death and I got out of that hellhole environment of a childhood home the second I could. I'm talking about those people who spend their entire lives abused, neglected, and destroyed only to have it grow worse with time. Those people who are ostracized for being different and are taken away from this world way earlier than they needed to be.

"God, House, you are such a horrible person. You know, I'm almost glad you want us to be over. Really, I-I am _sick and tired_ of being your punching bag. You take out all your frustration on me. I'm sorry Wilson finally got wise to what an asshole you were and left. I'm sorry Dr. Hadley had to leave you to get some help with the disease that was _taking her goddamn life_. And, I'm sorry that Vicodin doesn't give you that same buzz. But, I-gosh, forget it, why am I even telling you all of this? It's not like you'll retain any information anyway. Just, good-bye, House," you conclude with as much emotion and resentment coursing through you as you had in that moment so many years before, in that first time you had called him something other than Dr. House. As you think about your situation, you are reminded of something your mother told you when you were little.

_"Allie," she had said, "In life, there are times when you have to wait between two plains, the future and the past. The space in between is like a bridge. Now, things left unsaid when on this bridge pile up like water behind a dam. Eventually, you either have to clear the water, or drown."_

So, that is what it is with House. House is your bridge, that thing you're holding onto that is stopping you from the future; yet, at the same time, pulling you towards it. You realize then that you've decided not to drown. Promising to give it more thought later, you turn from him adamant on leaving with the last word.

"Where are you going?" he demands from where he stands behind you.

"Away, before this _thing_ kills me," you answer still moving to the door

"You'll be back, you know? You always are. My smallest duckling, you can't help but to come back. Why else would you still be working at PPTH with my team? You can't stay away," he points out. You can't deny that because you know it's true. You always ran when he called, always looked up at mention of your name, always jumped in like the boat was on fire. You silently make an oath not to do that anymore.

"Not this time, House," you whisper, "Not this time," you repeat actually watching his face as you say this.

There is something in those barely audible vows of yours that strikes a cord within each of you. For the first time, in a long time, your steps are light and effortless, air is easy to let in to her empty lungs, and everything around you looks bright and new.

He, on the other hand, feels a deep tug from inside of him. Could it be that he's finally realizing what he put you through? Or is it just the Thai food from lunch giving his face that greenish tint? You really don't care to find out.

With a new sense of confidence, you walk away before he can find some way to rope you back in again. Little do you know, he had already found a way to do so without knowing it. Sadly, the little tracker planted on you will continue to work for many months to come. Years, in fact. You will be powerless to stop it, remove it, or forget it. But, you have time until it really starts to kick in. You have time to smell the truly red roses, to breathe the fresh New Jersey air, and to get off the stupid bridge that you've been standing on for four and half years.

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© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, _Paint Me a Symphony_) if somebody is out there pushing this as their own. They are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own the argument House and Cameron had.


End file.
